Confessions, a midnight tale
by JanetAndrews
Summary: Joseph & Clarisse have a little heart to heart about the difference between men and women.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey everybody!_

I know, I know, I should be working on Worlds Apart but I got this idea as I was reading an article a few days ago. I started writing and before I knew it, I had written this story. It's pure fluff, not much of a plot, but I had a smile on my face as I was writing it. I hope you'll have a smile when you're reading it. This is;

**Confessions **

Tuesday night in the Palace. Lovely. At this time of night, not a sound was to be heard in the kitchen. There were no maids talking about chores to do and about the men in their lives, there were no chefs bickering about what to serve that evening, no oven timers ringing and no buzzing sound of the coffee machine. Right now, at two in the morning, the kitchen, much as the rest of the castle, was dead silent. Only one single shaded lamp was burning in the corner, creating an intimate, calm atmosphere.

The counter was spotless, the floor as smooth and reflective as a mirror. It smelled like lemon and fresh flowers, the scent coming from a bouquet of multi-coloured roses that was standing in the centre of the large mahogany wooden table. Right next to the flowers was a white, shiny plate, filled with a selection of luscious cookies. There were dark chocolate covered cookies, filled with sweet, creamy caramel. Milk chocolate chip cookies, covered with a hint of coconut. There were also cookies made from peanut butter, crunchy nutcrackers, and oatmeal-raisin cookies.

The silence was disturbed by the sound of a mug that was softly put down on the table. It was filled with fresh, cold milk and it was held by a lady who was dressed in a dark blue, satin bathrobe. Her hair was slightly damp, curling a little on her forehead and it smelled like shampoo and hair conditioner. Her face was clean, not a trace of make-up present, but her skin was smooth, as if a soothing facial mask had just treated it. She wore reading glasses, a small chain with tiny pearls flanking her face.

She was leaning back in a wooden chair, her bare feet resting on the edge of the kitchen table, her robe just about covering her knees. In her hands she held a paperback book, the cover of the book was a little folded, as if it had been read numerous times before. With her left hand she reached out to the plate of cookies, putting one in her mouth without really tasting it. As she turned the page, a vague fingerprint of chocolate covered the white paper but she didn't care, so immersed was she in the words on the page. She chewed slowly, reading the words as fast as she could with wide-open eyes, letting the story envelope her and take her away. A soft blush drew across her cheeks as she read more, thoughtlessly chewing the sweet cookie dough in her mouth. Then, the chapter ended and she lowered the book, closing it without sound.

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes momentarily, enjoying the warm feeling in her stomach and on her cheeks. She wasn't accustomed to relaxing this way; it had been ages since she'd done this the last time. It did occur to her that it may not be the smartest thing to do, reading until the wee hours of the morning, but then again it was the only time in which she wouldn't be disturbed. Her life was madness at times, for her the word "busy" was an understatement.

Slowly she leaned back in her chair, her head resting against the wooden frame. She opened her book again, continuing her visit to the main characters in the novel. It felt good to think about fictitious problems, to dream about a non-existent love, to watch a couple borne out of someone's imagination. What a delight it was for her to be momentarily living in a dream world, completely wrapped up in fantasies and practically perfect scenarios, vicariously enjoying a perfect and mind blowing love…from someone who didn't exist.

Page by page she read, her stomach warming at the sheer romance that unfolded before her eyes. If she closed her eyes she could picture them, warm, passionate, intense, romantic… yes, she could picture it all. She sighed. If only she could draw these types of images from her own memory. The man in the story was tall, strong, and handsome and he was able to sweep the leading lady off her feet just by looking at her. And if he opened his arms, she lacked any coherent speech; she was lost when he drew his…

A male voice came from the doorway. "Clarisse?"

She gasped and her body jerked upwards, her book flew out of her hands and landed on the floor. She almost tumbled backwards with her chair but managed to grab the table just before she ended up next to her book

"Watch out will you?" With a few steps he was close to her, securing her chair before she could harm herself.

"Oh my god!" she stammered, panting as she looked aside. She rolled her eyes as she recognized him. "Joseph, for God's sake! Don't _ever_ sneak up on me like that again!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here at this time of night," he said, kneeling down to pick up her book. "Is everything alright?"

Her hand was on her chest, covering her pounding heart. She swallowed. "You almost gave me a heart attack, but I'm all right, yes. What on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask the very same question," Joseph said, "Would being hungry be a sufficient answer to yours?"

"Hardly," she smiled, finally calming down a bit. She inhaled deeply to regain her composure completely. "I believe there's some left over roasted chicken in the fridge."

He seemed to ponder her suggestion but looked a bit taken aback, as if he realized he'd walked in on something. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he then said, walking over to the counter and he opened the fridge.

She turned to look at him; she now could see him completely. Her head of security was wearing his typical black pants but his shirt was grey, a shade she hadn't seen him wearing often. He looked a bit dusty, his shirt wrinkled, as if he had worked all night long. Her eyes slid downwards, his sleeves were tight around his arms and they accentuated the muscles underneath. She coughed, diverting her stare to the table. If only he knew that she was pleased with his presence. Very pleased in fact. She bit her lip; it would be completely inappropriate to tell him this. "You never disturb me Joseph," she said instead.

Silence fell upon the kitchen as for a moment, they were lost in their own thoughts. Joseph closed the fridge without having taken anything out, and cleared his throat as he glanced at the lady at the table. He wasn't really surprised to run into her here, this was her favourite spot in the whole castle. So many times had he accompanied her at this very same table, having tea or coffee, sometimes even dinner, and occasionally they had played a friendly card game. Even though there were always other people present, she always seemed to truly enjoy their little get-togethers, the growing warmth of their increasingly close friendship. He couldn't deny that he, too, always felt a jolt of happiness in his body whenever they were able to steal a few precious moments to relax together and simply enjoy each other's company. He treasured the smiles and laughter that came so easily to her during those times; smiles and laughter that were directed at him. He felt the jolt even more strongly now that they were alone. It was swirling low in the pit of his stomach, a reminder that he had long ago ceased thinking of her merely as his queen. He swallowed and returned to the table, empty-handed.

She raised a brow in surprise. "Nothing to your liking?"

He smiled at her. If only she knew. "No, I think I'll return to my…"

"Cookie?" she then said with an inviting smile, reaching out to hand him the plate with sweet treats.

"Cookie…" he repeated, not able to suppress a grin but then he took one. "Sure."

Her smile was amused now as he took a bite. "Milk?" she then asked, getting up from her chair to pour him a mug, without bothering to wait for his approval.

"Milk and cookies. How…American," Joseph stated as he sat down. He then laughed softly, turning his head towards her. "For some reason, I never expected to see Her Majesty having milk and cookies in the middle of the night. Entertaining sight though, I have to admit."

"I aim to please," she said as she sat down again, handing him the mug with cool fluid.

"Thank you."

His eyes rested on her as he drank the milk, he took a few sips before he lowered his mug again. It was then that, with a small gasp, she became aware of her own physical appearance. Once again she realized that men were so lucky, they didn't have to worry about lack of make-up or a bad hair day. But for some reason she felt comfortable with this man, as if she didn't have to worry about keeping up appearances. He had seen her in all circumstances, maybe even more than her own ladies maids. The most recent example was when he had rushed her through a violent rainstorm, the water pouring down her cheeks, effectively ruining her hair and make-up. He hadn't said anything, just handed her a dry towel, and they had a good laugh about it in the car ride home. No, never had he given her a reason to feel self conscious, something she was utterly grateful for. He had been there for her since day one, watching her every move, protecting her, supporting her, always without being too much in the picture. There were days in which she hardly realized that he was there, but she would miss him the second he would step out of sight. It was comforting to have someone close, always, without having to worry about maintaining the façade she was used to.

Sometimes she was convinced that he could read her thoughts, as if he knew what went around in her head 24/7. He would take a few steps closer if she felt uneasy in public. He would put a supporting hand on the small of her back, when she had to walk through a crowd full of strangers. When she was nervous to make a speech, he would make a joke to break the tension. Being this exposed to someone was a feeling that could very easily unnerve her, but it instead made her feel secure and comfortable. And yet she felt something different now that they were alone. It was a hint of nervousness, a sharp tingle in her stomach that made her breath a little deeper when he looked at her. She felt suddenly self-conscious.

"So Americans actually dip their cookies in milk huh?" Joseph said, dangling his cookie above his mug. Slowly he lowered it, frowning at the messy substance.

"I learned it in New York," Clarisse nodded, "A habit that's hard to let go."

"It bet it's tasty," he murmured, frowning when a chunk of his cookie dropped in the milk. "But if I may say so, it's also quite messy."

She shrugged, taking one herself. "Believe it or not, I like messy sometimes. Lovely change of pattern."

He smiled amused. "I couldn't agree more."

For a moment they stayed in silence as they ate. Joseph smiled as he saw the way she broke a tiny piece of her cookie before she dipped it in her milk. Her pinkie was turned upwards, a few crumbs fell on the table and she wiped them away when she was finished. Her elegance would shine through no matter what she did.

She caught his stare. "What?" she said, returning his smile.

"Nothing," he said, frowning when he lost yet another piece of cookie in his milk. With a sigh he put it aside. "That's it. I'm done."

She chuckled. "Orange juice?" she asked, getting up and taking his mug with her.

He nodded. "That would work much better, thanks."

As she opened the fridge to take out the jug with fresh squeezed juice, she heard his low chuckle. It wasn't until she had filled the glass and turned to bring it to him, and heard him speak, that she knew what he was laughing about. In an instant her eyes widened and blood rushed to her cheeks.

"He opened his eyes to watch her every move, staring at her as she walked away from the bed. Her hips were round, her skin glowing…"

"Oh dear God…" She had reached him in two seconds, putting the glass on the table, trying to grab her book out of his hands. But he got up from his chair, reading on with a smile on his face, his voice low.

"He didn't think he'd ever seen such a vision. It was like his dreams and fantasies had come to life…"

"Give me that!" She reached out again, grabbing his arm so he would release the book. He didn't struggle with her, realizing he was embarrassing her and that she wasn't pleased with his actions. She instantly turned away from him, first holding the book closely against her and finally placing it on the kitchen counter. Then she turned to look at him, her arms crossed. Even in the soft light, he could see the redness on her cheeks and the anger in her eyes.

He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry Clarisse, I really am. I was just interested in what you were reading."

She had never been so embarrassed in her life. Her cheeks were burning and her stomach cringed at the realization that he'd seen something this personal. She would have been able to laugh about it, had it been Charlotte or even one of her maids. But this was Joseph, the only person who was able to weaken her knees when he looked at her for too long. Joseph, who already knew so much about her, all but her true desires. Joseph, a man she was, she swallowed with difficulty, …attracted to.

"Well now you know, don't you? If you'll excuse me…" she said, attempting to walk to the door that would lead her out of this utterly painful situation.

"Can I make it up to you by making a very embarrassing confession?" he asked, taking a step in her direction. He felt the need to stop her, to not let her walk out now when things were awkward between them. He'd never felt more stupid in his life.

She stopped in her tracks, raising a brow, tilting her head. "I'm listening."

After slight hesitation he pulled back a chair, inviting her to come back to the table. She took a step closer but didn't sit down just yet.

"I'm a sucker for romance too, in movies that is," he said, smiling carefully at her. "But in real life, romance isn't that easy."

She sat down, folding her hands. "Continue."

He followed her example, sitting down next to her. He shoved the plate with cookies aside and leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice. "I once had a date with a lady, and to impress her, I had picked her a huge bouquet of wild flowers. It was beautiful, very colourful." He paused and shook his head by the memory.

She chuckled already, she couldn't help it. "And?"

He sighed. "And… as I handed her the bouquet and she smelled it, she got stung by a bee that just flew out of it. On her lip no less!"

"Oh the poor girl!" Clarisse said, laughing loud now, but she covered her mouth to prevent herself from making too much noise.

"Poor girl? Poor me!" Joseph grinned. "Her lip swelled up like a balloon! There went my chance to kiss her!" He grew silent just when Clarisse burst into laughter. He always loved to hear her laugh, that low, contagious yet elegant laugh.

"Oh goodness," she finally sighed, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "That's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time."

He smiled at her, raising a brow. "So I'm forgiven?"

Her nod indicated that he was off the hook so he smiled once again, taking a sip of his orange juice. He looked up when she leaned forward.

"So tell me something Joseph," Clarisse said softly but with a curious tone in her voice; "Why is it that, in all these years, I've never seen you with a date?"

_TBC...soon_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey dear readers, here is the second and last part of the story. Thanks for the lovely comments, I hope the end result will please you too. It was only a few days work… I told you it was pure fluff ;)_

He almost coughed in his glass; he'd never expected this question. He contemplated his answer before he spoke. "Because I'm always working when you're around, aren't I? One shouldn't combine business with pleasure."

Her smile was brief, yet endearing. "You're not working _now_ are you?" she asked, but instantly she regretted her question. What if he did consider this as part of his job? Joseph had always been kind to her, always interested, always seemingly sincere… but even though he was part of her life, she didn't have the right to assume she was part of his. "I mean…" she started, but he interrupted her.

"No, I'm not working now."

For a moment it was silent, and Clarisse sighed deeply. The casual, light mood of the moment ago had suddenly vanished. So if he wasn't working, he considered this as pleasure as well. In the pit of her stomach something was vaguely calling out to her, tickling lightly as little butterflies locked up in a jar.

"So can I ask _you_ something now?" Joseph then asked, leaning forward as well. His bare arm almost brushed her satin bathrobe.

"Mmhm?" she hummed, meeting his gaze. She swallowed.

"In this modern time, why do women still expect the men to court _them_, and not the other way around?"

She laughed softly. "First of all, the word "courting" is hopelessly out of fashion."

He tilted his head, as if he was thinking.

"Second of all," she continued, "Women are maybe a bit more careful because they don't want to risk being rejected. We protect ourselves against humiliation."

"See, now _that's_ what's so unfair," Joseph stated, pointing at her. "Women seem to think that we don't suffer the same way over rejection."

She chuckled, ignoring his protests. "Third, isn't it true that men like to hunt? Force of nature?"

To that Joseph grew silent and she smiled, waiting for his response. She didn't have to wait long. He sighed, shaking his head but his smile was evident. "That's probably the biggest cliché I've heard in a long time."

She laughed. "Oh come on Joseph…you can't tell me that you'd enjoy it when a woman would…" her voice got a mocking undertone, "…_court_ you. At least, not in the way men court women."

He seemed to contemplate her statement and for a moment she wished she could take back her words, not really sure if she wanted to hear his answer. But when he opened his mouth to speak, she got drawn back into the discussion.

"So men like to hunt?"

"Force of nature."

He laughed. "And women like to be…hunted?"

She shook her head. "Not necessarily. But you know what the fun part is?"

"I'm sure you're going to fill me in." He folded his arms, listening intently.

"We are able to let the man _think_ he's hunting us."

He laughed again, a little louder. "You think we're that shallow?"

She grinned. "A woman is always in charge."

He sat up a little straighter. "So, basically you're saying that the woman determines when a man is going to…" he smiled, "_court_ her?"

"Basically, that is what I'm saying."

"And men aren't able to play that game?"

"Not so well, no."

"I beg to differ."

She glanced at him from aside, a teasing look in her eyes. "Oh really? Does your game work with the ladies, Joseph?"

Whether it was the soft light in the kitchen, the late hour, or their unexpected meeting, she didn't know. But she realized that she was flirting with him, she hardly recognized her own behaviour. It was such a long time ago since she'd felt this carefree.

He grinned, not responding, not even looking at her and it tickled her.

"Well?" she touched his arm, teasingly, but the second their skin made contact she didn't want to release him anymore. "Tell me what works Joseph, what do women fall for?" Her voice was soft but her tone pleading.

Slowly, he met her gaze. Her eyes glittered as she gauged his reaction and her cheeks had a shade of pink he'd never seen on her before. Soft pink, like roses.

"Women…" he started, smiling coyly, "women like compliments."

She shook her head, sitting back in her chair. "And I stated the biggest cliché you said? That's another one, Joseph."

He shrugged, grinning. "Defend it all you want, but it's true."

She folded her arms. "Nonsense. We don't fall for cheap lines anymore, a man has to offer more than that."

His grin was mischievous as he looked at her, a look she felt tingling in her stomach. "Well if it doesn't work with the ladies, it could explain why you never see me with a date."

Her laugh was amused. "I rest my case," she said, tapping lightly on the table as if she were a judge.

For a moment it was silent and Joseph smiled as he looked at her. She was acting freely and he'd never seen her like this. So free, so loose, so…just Clarisse. At least, the Clarisse he expected her to be. He inhaled deeply, triggering her into looking up at him, her eyes twinkling. "So help a single man here, what _do_ women want?"

She laughed, a little too hard, trying to ignore the nerves that were running through her body. Then, she folded her arms. "Easy. Respect. A good conversation. Laughter." She raised a finger to emphasize her next statement. "And most of all, we want the truth, we _hate _having to guess."

"You want the truth?" he said softly, tilting his head a little. "Are you sure about that?"

"The truth," she nodded.

"The truth can hurt, or mess things up," he said.

"It's always better than being left in the dark. Better than having to guess what went wrong."

He nodded, smiling a little, but she couldn't read his smile. It was amused but also something else, and she couldn't help being intrigued.

He still looked at her, a smile curving his lips. Then, his smile faded. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time now." He inhaled deeply, folding his hands before his mouth. He exhaled slowly.

She raised a brow, somehow her breathing went faster. "Oh?"

He glanced at her, quickly, and suddenly his voice changed, became softer, making her lean in a little more to hear him. "I can't say it just like that, it's a bit difficult to explain."

She placed her elbows on the table too, covering her mouth, mirroring him. "Now I'm getting curious."

Quickly he looked at her again, a little longer this time, and then shook his head. "No. It's better that I don't say it, it would be inappropriate."

Her voice became impatient, she could hear it herself. "Come on, say it already."

He leaned back in his chair now, not looking at her. She frowned; curiosity was one of her flaws, yet she had always learned to fight it. Now she wasn't as successful though. "Well?"

"Well…"

"I'm waiting."

"The truth?"

"The truth."

"Very well," he said, pressing his lips together. Her stomach seemed to turn inside her, making her inhale sharply. Then, he leaned forward and she blinked when he took one of her hands in his, pressing it gently. "The truth…"

"Please," she said, her voice hoarse.

He inhaled deeply and then he spoke, looking her straight in the eye as he did. "Clarisse…you're beautiful."

Within a second her cheeks reddened and she swallowed, diverting her gaze. "Oh…"

He smiled briefly, patting her hand. "You wanted the truth."

Her blush deepened. "Thank you," she finally said, meeting his eyes again.

Then, as she was still blushing, his eyes narrowed and his grin became wider. "And now I rest _my_ case…" "

She first raised her brow and then her eyes widened, understanding before he spoke again.

"See, women _do_ like compliments…"

Her mouth opened in stunned surprise. She pulled her hand away from his grasp quickly and slapped his palm. Her cheeks were burning now, but for a whole different reason than before. She shook her head in disbelief, but then looked at him and couldn't help but laugh softly, suddenly grasping the humor in the situation. She smiled broadly, graciously accepting defeat. She laughed again. "Touché, Mr. Romeiro. Well done….even if it _was_ at my expense."

He let out a breath in relief, for a second he had feared she would be angry or worse, hurt. He wasn't really joking, of course. He couldn't deny the fact that with the way she was sitting there across the table, her hands placed on the dark wood, the dark blue colour of her robe accentuating the blue in her eyes, her face free from make-up but full of pleasure…she was gorgeous.

"I'm sorry," he grinned.

"No you're not," she said, crossing her arms but still smiling.

"You're right, I'm not," he said.

Slowly, their laughter subsided and she took a sip of her milk, placing it down as she realized that it wasn't cold anymore. Thoughtlessly she licked the fluid from her lips, shoving the mug aside.

He echoed her gesture, drinking as well, gazing at her. She seemed to be lost in thoughts, staring ahead, her one hand stroking the other. She never wore nail polish but her nails were shiny, the sun kissed skin of her hand covered with tiny freckles.

"It's getting late," she said and she looked up at him, briefly smiling, her eyes warm. He was convinced he didn't deserve a look like this, so endearing.

Then, slowly, her hand came up her arm, up to slide over the fabric of her robe, tracing the V-neck, up to the soft skin of her chest and he followed her trace with his eyes, he couldn't resist.

"Do you want to call it a night?" he asked, softly, hesitantly. It was as if he realized that, if this evening would come to an end, they would be thrown back in reality.

"Oh…" she sighed, arching her back a little, stretching her tired muscles. "It would probably be the smartest thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"And we are smart people, it's what's expected of us," he nodded, his gaze still resting on her.

"It must be exhausting Joseph," she suddenly said softly, leaning forward again. "You always have to be sharp, alert, in shape…don't you get tired?" With that she gazed at his arms again, his strong arms that had prevented people from approaching her, had prevented her from any harm that might have threatened her.

He cleared his throat, realizing where she was looking. He folded his arms. "You can answer that question yourself," he said, narrowing his eyes when she didn't meet his gaze but seemed to be fixated on his arms. "You have to be sharp and alert too, and in shape, and on top of that you always have to be kind, interested and polite. Don't you get tired?"

She blinked, as if she woke up and she met his eyes again. "Of being kind?" she asked.

"And interested."

"And polite? Not so much." She shook her head and then she moved, pushing back her chair as she got up. "But you know what gets really exhausting at times?"

He grinned. "Politicians?"

A smile curved her lips but instantly she turned back to serious. Her eyes pierced right into his and he swallowed, hypnotized by the blue that seemed to sparkle like diamonds.

"Keeping up appearances." With that she shoved back her chair and picked up her mug, taking it to the sink.

Torn by his urge to ask what she meant exactly, but suspecting that she had said more than she wanted to, he kept silent.

"Excuse me," he heard her say. Then, suddenly, he felt warmth behind him and before he knew it, he inhaled the sweet scents of luxurious cream, of fresh shampoo, of delicate perfumed powder. As he looked up, he saw her arm reaching out before him, picking up the half-eaten plate with cookies. She was leaning against him, half behind and half next to him and he couldn't help but glimpse aside. If he would dare, he would have stretched his neck but he stayed there, still, frozen on his chair. Her skin was close, soft like velvet, smelling sweet, yet he couldn't look at it directly. She pulled away, straightening her back

"Are you done Joseph?" she then asked, her voice soft.

He looked up at her, his neck twisted to see her. His mouth was suddenly dry, rough, like sand paper. He licked his lips to be able to speak, his voice hoarse. "Done with what?"

She smiled and nodded at the table. "Your orange juice, are you done with it?"

He cleared his throat, diverting his gaze. "Yes." Quickly he emptied his glass and handed it to her.

"Thank you."

As she turned around to take the plate and glass to the counter, he glanced aside. Her robe was short, reaching just below the knee and it swayed along with her as she walked. The fabric was supple, accentuating her slim figure with the way it was tied at her waist. Then, as she turned to lean back against the counter, one leg crossing the other, he got up.

"We'd better get some sleep," he said, inwardly scolding himself for the hoarse tone in his voice.

"You're right," she answered, tilting her chin a little. She smiled at him and he felt dizzy, as if he had gotten up too soon.

He cleared his throat, hypnotized. Slowly he took a few steps closer, his heart pounding harder with each step. She didn't move at all, she just looked at him as he approached her, smiling, waiting. As if she knew what was in his head, his heart.

"Good night Joseph," she said, extending her hand so he could close his fingers around it.

"Good night Your Majesty," he said, lowering his head. As his lips brushed the soft skin of her hand he shivered. She was so close, so inviting. He was overwhelmed by the urge to step even closer, to touch her, to hold her. With great difficulty he fought the temptation to act on his desires. He looked up hopefully as he heard her hoarse whisper.

"Joseph?"

He could barely utter a response. "Yes?"

Her eyes sought his, they were glittering. "Didn't I tell you?"

He blinked. "What?"

"The woman is always in charge…"

As he stood there, stunned, frozen to the ground, she stepped aside and walked away from him, her lips swaying. Near the door she turned, and before she pushed it open she winked at him. "Night Joseph."

She left the kitchen with a broad smile but it faded out when she realized she had left her book with him. She stopped in her tracks, gazing at the closed door behind her, knowing what she would find inside.

As she re-entered the kitchen, her smile returned as she met his amused eyes. The door fell shut behind her.

Tuesday night in the Palace. Lovely.

**THE END**

_I know, you all want to kill me now. Janet goes into hiding! Till next time xxx_


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